Letters from the Sky
by secretspark89
Summary: Goes AU after 5.18, Judgment Day. Tony returns after his summer as Agent Afloat to find that Ziva has decided to stay in Israel. Years later, the team is called to Tel Aviv to take part in a joint investigation; Tony wants answers, and Ziva back.
1. from where you are

**A/N: **

**If you can guess why Ziva didn't come back, bonus cookies for you. **

**And I think this will be my favorite of all six t/z ff I currently I have in progress...**

_Oh, I hope you like it ;)_

* * *

(tony/ziva) Letters from the Sky

Chapter 1. From Where You Are

* * *

"Whoa, Boss. Say that again?"

_That can't be right. No way he'd heard that right_…

* * *

Twice. He'd only seen her twice in the past five years; both on an over-sized, pixilated screen in MTAC, and only once in real time.

_And no, the picture of her in that black bikini left folded up in his wallet didn't count_.

The first time, he'd been alone. It'd been over a month since his return when Ducky had made the comment about Ziva almost dying, and there being footage of it somewhere on a ZNN feed. According to the words that scrolled across the bottom of the screen, it'd been a bomb blast; and apparently everyone else had been made aware of it, as well as Ziva's subsequent safety, the summer prior.

_Then again, lack of information is the price you pay when you're on a ship half way across the world_.

Ironically, as it turned out, he'd been docked, more than a few times, closer to where Ziva was in Morocco, than to his existing teammates in D.C.;

_if he'd known that..._

It'd taken Tony all of five minutes to clear MTAC after leaving Ducky, clearly flummoxed at his rushed state, in autopsy. Volume muted, picture zoomed in as far as the screen would allow, he watched, again and again, until his cell phone flashed _Gibbs_ for the fifth time. To say Tony had become well acquainted with the rewind button on the remote would've been an understatement; he had the small callous on his right thumb to prove it.

The second time he'd seen her, although undeniably under better circumstances, brought the same end result: no questions answered; _no reason why_. He should've been angry with her, fuming even, that she'd found the time to keep in contact with Abby and not him, her partner of almost three years. _He_ hadn't talked to her, _seen her,_ in nearly two years. Nevertheless, the mere mention of her name had him bounding the stairs to MTAC by twos, determined not to miss any inter-continental face time with the Israeli beauty. With an eye-scan taking seconds too long and one last attempt to pummel his short locks into submission, he cracked the door open far enough to hear her voice resonate through the speakers; it was lower than he remembered; gravelly. He listened until he just couldn't take it anymore, a sudden burning need to see her, and walked the carpeted pathway that led to the main-screen; her chocolate orbs were still beautiful and bottomless, and to his dismay, tired, but it was quickly forgotten when he crept from the shadows and they flickered up, instantly fixed on him.

"Well hey, thanks for joining us, DiNozzo." Gibbs had forgone the headset, and the well-deserved head-slap, and Ziva smiled at the weak reprimand, deftly tucking a strand of unusually straight hair behind her left ear; _or would that be her right?_ Tony never had figured out the whole mirror-image thing, but for some reason, right then, it seemed important.

Just as it was important that her shirt was a rich purple that simply paled in comparison to her honey-tanned skin, and that her Star of David pendant was twisted two, _no three_, times on the thin gold chain.

Later that morning, Tony would decide to break the caffeine addiction that plagued him; the one that made him feel more like Gibbs with each passing day; the one that kept him in line at Starbucks rather than getting to work early. God only knew how much time he'd wasted when he could have been _just looking at her. _Had he known about the case_, about her, he'd have been early. _

She sat there reading the highlights from a report, a report that _somehow_ had _something_ to do with them, adding her own personal flourishes, the kind that never officially made it onto paper; the kind that she specialized in. When she tilted her chin back up, giving a weak smile that signified their time was coming to a close, Tony was, for the first time in maybe two years, speechless. It took a few seconds before Gibbs tore through the open silence.

"Alright, _Ziver_," he sighed. "Thanks for calling. I know it's late down there."

She visibly glanced at her watch. "Actually, it is only four o'clock."

But, yeah, she did look tired. For it to be four o'clock in the afternoon, _she looked damn tired_.

She didn't belong there, amidst whatever war she was battling this week; she belonged at NCIS.

She belonged with the team, sitting at her desk,_ across from him_.

_She belonged somewhere safe._

"Well then," Tony said, finding his voice a few unnerving notches higher than usual, "get some sleep, 'cause you look like crap."

_Jesus, he was even starting to sound like Gibbs_.

"No," he defended quickly. "I didn't mean for it to sound like that." His smile faltered and Tony cursed under his breath, but Ziva rolled her eyes, _just like he remembered she did_, and he took it as a good sign; maybe after two years, he hadn't completely crammed his foot in his mouth.

_It was a wonder she didn't come back_.

"Gibbs?" she asked, a mischievous glint in her eyes, "Would you mind?" She nodded in Tony's direction.

"Aw, what the hell?"

_Slap._

"DiNozzo!" he yelled, solely for dramatic effect. He looked at his Senior Field Agent with a low chuckle before facing the screen with a wink and heading out.

Tony could hear Ziva laughing at him, and when he dared open his eyes, Gibbs was already walking briskly out the door. "Thanks for that," he snickered.

"It was deserved," she smiled, lips pursed as if she were trying to hide it. Hearing someone call for her, she turned away from the monitor and Tony recognized the man in the background from the ZNN clip almost two years prior; maybe her new partner, his replacement. "Sorry, Tony. I have to go," she took her bottom lip between her teeth, visibly stalling; and Tony was once again, just content in watching her, donning his patent DiNozzo grin. "But take care, yes?"

"Yeah, you too. Try not getting blown up anymore, huh? Worrying about you is giving me an ulcer here," he winced, clutching his side.

Ziva's eyes widened at his admission, and before he turned and the feed cut out, she whispered his name in a frenzied tone, "Tony!"

"Yeah?"

She leaned into the screen, staring daggers at the stenographer, who immediately pulled his fingers away from the keyboard.

_Only Ziva could be intimidating through a computer screen_.

"Happy Birthday."

...

Her well wishes for the following three birthdays were relayed through Abby, always a day or two in advance, and included little messages that confused the Goth, leaving her pressing for answers. Tony, however, was unwilling to tell Abs just how _furry _he was.

* * *

"Whoa, Boss. Say that again?"

_That ccouldn't be right. No way he'd heard that right_…

"I said, _go home and grab your gear_. Need a Q-Tip, DiNozzo?"

"Ah, no. But why am I-"

"Because we leave for Tel Aviv in four hours. So_, go home and grab your gear_." Tony's mouth dropped, processing the words as quickly as his coffee-less mind would allow. "Sometime today would be good, DiNozzo."

"Right, Boss." He stood from his chair, with Tim sluggishly mimicking his actions, weary about who would ask the obvious; and Gibbs wasn't giving them much time, taking long strides en route to the elevator. "Go ask, McGoo."

"Why should I ask? You ask."

"Just go…Oh my God, you're useless. Come on." They sped after him, and as the doors were about to close in front of them, McGee stopped the elevator with an interfering hand.

Tony waited until they'd dropped three floors, determinedly unwilling to look eager. He straightened his suit coat, eyes fixated on the buttons to avoid a _Gibbs' glare_, "So Boss, what's in Tel Aviv?" he asked casually.

"Sand," he shrugged.

Tony held back a huff of frustration.

_Two more floors, and only one more to go_…

"…and three dead NCIS Agents."

"I didn't know we had people stationed there."

"We don't. But we do have intimate ties with the lead officer on the case."

_Ziva_.

_Ding._

_Damn._

"And, DiNozzo." Tony turned back to the man still in the elevator; _where exactly was he going?_ "Don't forget about Abs. She's got your papers."

_Ding._

_Great, now he had to take the stairs_.

* * *

_Music._

_Really loud, incomprehensible music; either Abby was deaf, or she was going to be, really, really soon._

"AbbyNormal!"

"Tony Bologna!" He grimaced. "What? No?" Her lips twitched and she gazed away in thought as she switched off the radio. "I don't really have anything else that rhymes with Tony…"

"Keep tryin', Abs."

She was absent the white lab coat, but the low whirring of multiple machines told Tony she was busy doing something.

_And one of them kept clicking...click, click, click, and it was already grating his nerves._

_Maybe that was the reason for the music._

Tony smiled distractedly; he'd worked with Abby for years, and he still wasn't even close to understanding the intricate inner-workings of her mind.

"Oh. Yeah. Right," she giggled, handing him a thick manila envelope. "Maybe this time Gibbs'll trust you to not lose them again when you get back."

"I'm not really setting that bar too high. Thanks, Abs," he winked. Tony turned to leave, but she took hold of his arm above the elbow and he swayed back to face her, his eyes widening is question. "Abby?" his lips puckered.

"What's your plan?" she asked seriously.

"Plan for what?"

She punched him _not so playfully_ in the arm. "What's your plan to get her back?" she asked seriously.

"Abby…" he whined; his lips pressed back together quickly when she lifted a fist and scrunched her face, ready to provide a second blow. "Abby," he said softly. "You heard Vance, _and Gibbs_. It was her choice not to come back."

Abby picked up a second remote and clicked it over his head; he didn't have to turn around to recognize the sound of her door snapping locked.

_She was going to kill him_.

He winced when she advanced, but she didn't maim him this time; instead, Abby embraced him in one of her signature hugs, her left pigtail tickling the back of his neck as she let her head rest on his shoulder. After a few seconds, she pried herself away, leaving her fingers, nails he noticed, adorned with little white-out painted skulls, wrapped around his forearms.

She looked at him sternly. "Okay," she said critically. "I'm giving you three days to call me with an update. You and I both know she didn't want to go back. _Vance_," she spat out spitefully, releasing her grip. "And it's not like Gibbs'll bring her back, so I'm leaving it up to you_. I'm counting on you_."

"Hey now, why wouldn't Gibbs bring her back?" he asked surprised. Abby Scuito was usually Jethro Gibbs' number one fan. She'd even named a dog after him.

"Oh, come on, Tony," she pleaded. "You know Gibbs. He's like God."

Tony quirked a brow at her comparison, "You mean _he could_ make a rock so heavy he wouldn't be able to lift it?"

"No," she tried reprimanding him through plumb colored, smiling lips. She started pacing along the length of her evidence table, throwing Tony sideways glances as she spoke. "He's like God," she repeated. "He'll give you a nudge in the right direction, maybe in the form of a few well deserved head slaps," she giggled, "but in the end, after he's read the rules and given his opinion, you've got free will. If she told him it was her choice, he wouldn't guilt her into coming back, even if he knows she doesn't want to stay _there_."

"So you want me to guilt Ziva into coming back?"

"I don't care what you do," she threw her hands up in exasperation. "But there's a reason you guys haven't replaced her, and you know it!"

"Abs…"

"She didn't want to go back, Tony. She told me. Okay, maybe not in so many words, but…"

"Abby?"

"What?"

"Did you really think I would get back on the plane home without even trying?" he tipped a smile in question.

"Tony!" she hit him again. "You were going to try this whole time and you just let me ramble? I'd kill you right here if you weren't my only shot," she threatened playfully. "And I'd get away with it, too."

He leaned in and winked, "Gotta go, Abs. Unless you plan on helping me pack."

She rolled her eyes and shooed him away with a boot to the behind, leaving a rather dusty shoe print on his backside. She'd let him find out on his own, later; he turned back when the door refused to open. "Promise me," she demanded.

"I promise."

She shook her head, "Try again. And remember, it's easier to drag her by her hair if it's in a ponytail," she smiled.

"Okay, I promise I'll do my best to get the Crazy Ninja on the plane home with us. _If_ you ever let me out," he added quickly.

She pouted and clicked the remote a few times until the little red light above the door flashed. "You better!" she yelled after him. "Don't forget! I'm waiting!"

* * *

**A/N.**

**I love you all for the love and reviews on my stories.**

**As usual, reviews and critiques are greatly appreciated. =)**


	2. wicked game

(tony/ziva) Letters from the Sky

Chapter 2. Wicked Game

_It's strange what desire will make foolish people do._

_I never dreamed that I'd love somebody like you._

_And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you._

* * *

He was sure he'd forgotten something; if there was one thing Anthony DiNozzo Jr. was bad at, it was packing.

Toothbrush. _Check_.

Phone charger. _Check._

Amex card. _Check_.

Sun screen. _Check_.

Because although DiNozzos tanned, he felt the Israeli sun might be a bit on the harsh side, even for his Italian skin.

Tony muddled through the contents of his top desk drawer, begrudgingly giving up hope, and shoving odds and ends into his oversized duffle bag.

_Whatever he'd forgotten, he'd just have to buy when they landed. _

With a heavy sigh, Tony sunk into his chair, locking both his top and bottom drawers in a preemptive strike against prying eyes. He refused to return a week or two from now, only to find that Abby had swiped his Mighty Mouse stapler again.

_He just refused_.

He looked around at the empty bullpen, the echoing sound of his _hmmf_ bringing light to the eerie silence, broken only by the whirring sound of Tim's ever-running computer. Gibbs was in MTAC with Vance, undoubtedly being read in on whatever sand storm they were about to fly into, and McGee had yet to return from the basement. It never mattered whether Tim was taking a long weekend, or like today, traveling halfway around the world, his and Abby's goodbyes always took _forever_.

Tony's face twisted in sincere sympathy thinking about the poor Autopsy Gremlin; Palmer would undoubtedly be faced the brunt of Abby's worry induced tantrums while the team was away.

"You know," Gibbs swung passed his desk, startling Tony out of his day dream; _or was it still considered a day dream at midnight?_ "Keep making that face, and it'll stick like that."

His lips twitched. "Right, boss."

Tony glanced at his watch. 12:19. If they left within the hour, they'd make it to Tel Aviv around noon, D.C. time.

_And, boy, that time difference was going to suck_;_ being seven hours ahead was going to mess with his sleep._

_Or was it eight hours?_

"DiNozzo?"

Tony's head shot up, his failed attempt at mental math all but forgotten. "Yeah, boss?"

"Where the hell is McGee?"

* * *

Tony climbed aboard the C-2 Greyhound, his least favorite of the Naval issued cargo planes, groaning in displeasure as he strapped himself in.

"What, Tony?" Tim smirked. "You thought we were flying first class?"

Tony threw him a hard glare. "No, McGee." He rubbed incessantly at his right ear with the pad of his index finger. "Gum. I forgot gum," he whined. "My ears are going to pop nonstop for twelve hours." He moved his jaw back and forth a few times until he heard it _click_, and he dropped his head as far back as the seat would allow.

He already didn't like the way this was going, and they hadn't even left yet.

Tony opened his eyes slowly, unaffected by the roaring engine behind him.

Gibbs may have had over fifty rules, but Tony only had one: _Always be Prepared_.

_And he couldn't even remember gum_.

"Heads up," McGee yelled as the plane jolted into motion, making its way down the runway. He underhandedly tossed something, a mauve blur that Tony caught with ease despite Tim's lack of hand-eye coordination. "I've got two more in my bag."

Tony looked at the cube in his hands and rolled his eyes.

_Ice Breakers: Ice Cubes. __Leave it to McGee to buy some economy 12 pack_.

He made a mental note to snag McGee's Costco card as soon they got back; he was in desperate need of a new vacuum.

Tony nodded in appreciation, ignoring despite his distaste, the fact that McGee chewed Raspberry Sorbet flavored gum.

_But beggars couldn't be choosers_.

The cap popped open too easily, and a few cubes fell to the filthy floor of the plane. Tony shifted his eyes from Gibbs to McGee, making sure his blunder went unnoticed; he could almost feel the ghost of a head slap. Luckily, Tim was busy sifting through the case notes on his phone, and Gibbs' eyes were closed, his face relaxed, clearly already sleeping.

_The man was a machine_.

Tony chewed mindlessly on the fruity gum, mentally filing away a particularly funny jab with which he could taunt McGee later, when he could his hear his own joke clearly enough to appreciate it.

* * *

It was five hours before the throbbing in Tony's head dulled enough for him think straight, but even then, he could only muster enough energy for one thought. Actually, it had been the only, singular, wonderful thought he'd had since this afternoon.

_Ziva._

_He was going to see Ziva._

_He was going to talk to Ziva._

_And if he had one last lucky bone in his damn body, he would get close enough to touch her again._

_He was going to say something that would make her laugh._

_Or maybe something that would make her scrunch her nose in cute confusion._

_Ziva._

_He was going to get her to come back._

Tony let himself ponder the few ways they might finally be reacquainted.

_Would she be waiting for them when the plane landed? _

_Or sitting behind her desk when they arrived at Mossad? _

Knowing Ziva, she'd use her ninja stealth to her advantage and scare the crap out of him.

Whichever way panned out, in each of Tony's hypothetical situations, Ziva would give him one of her signature coy smiles, and her intense gaze would finally meet his again, if only briefly; and it would be enough.

_Because God, her eyes._

He drifted into a fitful slumber, waking every half hour or so; but every time his eyes closed, he was barraged with the memories of their last night together.

_The night before he'd been sent to sea._

_The night before she'd been sent back to Israel._

_The night he'd spent in her bed, finally touching her, finally tasting her, molding her body to his, as if they'd been made, solely to become one._

And then he'd left, only affording himself one last glance at her, tangled mercilessly in her sheets, her flawless olive skin in stark contrast to her bright white sheets. How she'd become so twisted, _or how he'd gotten un-twisted without waking her_, he'd never know.

He'd regretted leaving her the second his feet hit the pavement, slowly closing her front door behind him; floorboards were always squeakier and clicking locks were always louder when Tony was trying to escape, whether it be from a crime scene or the awkward morning after conversation he'd refused to allow cheapen their bout of reckless passion in the light of day.

But this was it; his _one chance_ as Abby had so aptly informed him, to get his partner back, in any capacity she'd have him.

_And he'd be damned if he wasn't about to take it_.

...

"DiNozzo!"

Tony's eyes snapped open to find the back of the plane wide open; they'd landed, and Gibbs was standing above him, waiting.

"Coming, boss," he shouted; he removed his foam ear plugs and sleepily fumbled with the four way belt, cracking his back when he stood. Tony arched back, hoping to hear the blissful _pop_ that would rid him of the discomfort, but alas, it never came. With a sigh, Tony grabbed his luggage and followed Gibbs onto the uneven tarmac.

With his feet firmly on Israeli ground, Tony squinted, looking around expectantly, but there was no welcoming party, and more importantly, no Ziva. Just a black SUV, idly waiting a few hundred yards away in what looked like the dead of night. By Tony's watch, it was only 8:30.

"Where to, boss?" McGee asked.

"Mossad."

* * *

**A/N: So, it's been a while...**

Please accept my preemptive '_thank you_' for any follows/reviews etc. They are all appreciated far more than you know! :)

-Katie


	3. stay

(tony/ziva) Letters from the Sky

Chapter 3: Stay

Alright, everything is alright  
Since you came along  
And before you  
I had nowhere to run to  
Nothing to hold on to  
I came so close to giving it up.  
And I wonder if you know  
How it feels to let you go?

So change your mind  
And say you're mine.  
Don't leave tonight  
Stay.

* * *

"Tony," McGee pondered aloud. "What'd you tell Brenda?"

They were comfortably seated in the second row of the roomy SUV, their luggage snuggly tucked between them, leaving Gibbs and their equally reserved driver, Daniel, to silently share the front.

"What?" he looked to Tim in confusion. "Tell her about what?"

"Tony, we just left the country. And we have no idea how long we'll be here," Tm said in disbelief. "She's not going to worry about you?"

"McGoo," Tony rolled his eyes into the darkness, "Brenda and I have been done for over a month now. Keep up."

"A month? You never said anything."

"Eh," he shrugged. "She was a nice girl. But I don't think we'd have made it in the long haul."

"_Girl_," Tim repeated lowly; he strained his eyes and watched Tony carefully, his gaze shielded fully by the darkness, but surprisingly, Tony seemed unaffected, scrolling through his phone.

_Girl._

Tim mulled over the word, trying desperately to grasp at the subtext; _because the last time Tony had used the term 'girl' in reference to his love life, had been at his fortieth birthday party:_

'Yeah, Abs," he'd said about the bartender who'd unabashedly flirted with him throughout the evening, _complete with a coy wink and a few perfectly timed giggles_, "she's cute. But she's just a girl."

And for two hours after Jimmy, Abby and the rest of the gang had left the bar, Tim had stuck around, making his way through two more pitchers with Tony.

Consequently, the Senior Field Agent's birthday bash had turned into a no-holds-barred introspection of his life;

_Audience of one, Timothy McGee. _

And according to a slightly tipsy Anthony DiNozzo, _because apparently with age came a sudden intolerance for alcohol_, being married to his job was a weak substitute for the real thing.

He was forty, and although his job and subsequent pay grade allowed for luxuries most would only ever dream of, being _Over the Hill_ had, as he so eloquently put it, given him a pretty damn good view; and to his dismay, a wife and kids were nowhere in sight.

A week later, Tony's online profile stated he was in a 'committed relationship' with Brenda Bitner, the pretty brunette barista from the coffee shop down the street from his condo. And although Tim's initial reaction left his mouth dry, grasping for that one proverbial straw to fill in the missing pieces, he eventually accepted the move for what it was, an attempt to build a life for himself outside the walls of NCIS.

Anthony DiNozzo Jr. wanted someone, a woman, to come home to at the end of the night.

Wanted a woman to build a family with.

And McGee couldn't fault him for that.

..

They arrived at Mossad within an hour, and Tony was eager to stretch his legs. Luggage all but abandoned, the group made their way down the cobblestone pathway to the massive double-doors at the entrance of the building.

Once inside, Tony stood awestruck, barely making it over the threshold before succumbing to his bout of temporary paralyzing disbelief.

The outside of the building had been as expected, tall and white washed, stucco built, with sharp corners and vast courtyards encompassing dead grassy patches. It was practical and dreary, effectively establishing the fact that, Mossad in fact, meant business.

_But the inside._

_The inside was, dare he say, beautiful. _

It was vast and open, with a clear view of all three floors; the walls, too, were adobe made, desks sectioned off, mostly into quads, each with respective inhabitants typing furiously away. The wide, lengthy hallways led to _god knew where_, with multiple coiled staircases connecting floors. And everything held orange, earthlike tones.

"McGee," Tony whispered. "I think we're in the wrong place. Tell Daniel-son we took a wrong turn back there by the-"

But with a particularly hard glare from Gibbs, Tony clamped his mouth shut, and they made their way through the floor set in silence.

And judging by the way he carried himself leading the way through the winding corridors, and the sheer number of deliberately averted eyes, Daniel was more than _just a driver_.

With a swift knock announcing their arrival, Daniel opened the heavy wooden door, almost immediately disappearing once the agents stepped into Eli David's office.

_And then there were four_.

The room was large; larger than one man would seemingly need, whether or not the Director of Mossad. And it lacked personality, donning no family photos, no novelties or distinctive touches; it was bare, and quite dark.

"Ah," the man behind the desk acknowledged, removing his reading glasses and standing to attention. "Gibbs," he extended his hand, "and your team."

"Special Agents DiNozzo and McGee," Gibbs clarified.

"I wish our first meeting was under better circumstances," Eli dragged a chair from the corner and gestured towards the black leather, _uninviting_ couch that sit against the wall. "But it is good to meet you nonetheless. I have heard great stories from Ziva," he smiled. The Director noted the quick shift in attention, and before anyone could ask, he answered their shared query, "She should be joining us shortly."

Tony, like Gibbs, politely refused the offering of what he assumed to be tea; he sat back, after a cheeky look from Tim that confirmed the tea hadn't been poisoned, content on listening to the Director's words and admiring his wardrobe. His accent, Tony noticed, _after deciding his suit was undeniably an Armani_, was markedly heavier than Ziva's, almost presenting itself as a slight lisp, and after a few minutes of formalities, Tony's attention was drawn back to the present with the mention of her name.

_And the way he pronounced it, the Z sounding more like an S..., it was making him crazy_.

"Ziva," Eli said in a low chuckle, "I am afraid, Agent Gibbs, that you made her soft."

"Soft?" Tony asked.

_Because Mossad Officer Ziva David was not soft_.

_Or rather, she was. But not in the way he was implying_.

"Yes, _soft_," Eli confirmed. "She came back, and she had so many questions. All these _questions, questions, questions_," his hands waved in dismissal. "She was always wanting _to know_ _why, and how, _and all the other possible solutions than the orders given to her. She thought I could not see it," he mused, "but she had gotten soft."

"Naw," Gibbs refuted lightly with a head shake. "That just makes her an investigator." His swell of pride, although subtle, was unmistakable.

"Either way, she has served me well," Eli admitted. "But she was too restless in the field, so I eventually gave her what she wanted, her own team."

"Her own team?"

"Well, of sorts. She and Malachi run their own affairs, taking the cases that need," he paused, choosing his words carefully, "a finer touch." He absentmindedly tended to his tea, but noting the look of confusion on the agents' faces, he continued. "Malachi Ben-Gidon," he clarified. "A good Officer, and one of a handful of men I trust with my daughter's life." His eyes shifted pointedly to Tony. "They work efficiently together. They live their _separate_ lives outside of work," he explained, "and every now and then they recruit an officer of their choosing to join their mission. They never last though," he admitted with a smile. "They either resign or get hungry for more. That pair though, they are content with their work."

Eli continued with his anecdotes, but Tony was distracted, twitching uncomfortably in his seat, unsettled by the look of recognition, _of knowledge_, he'd just received from the Director of Mossad.

_Or had it been from Ziva's father_?

Either way, it left him feeling exposed, as if he knew more about their _partnership_ than Tony would have liked.

And as if on cue, ready to rip Tony from his overzealous scrutiny and ensuing discomfort, his senses were drawn to the creaky swing of the office door; Ziva noticed the trio with one foot barely in the room.

_And then she just stood there_.

She just stood there, lips slightly parted in surprise, eyes darting from agent to agent _to agent_, and back to Eli. "Is everything alright?" she pressed Eli. "What's happened?"

And when she stepped hurriedly out of the dark hallway, kicking the door closed behind her, Tony's brow furrowed at her appearance. She was dressed casually, in dark jeans and a black tee, but his eyes were drawn to her face; there was a bruise that covered the spans her left eye and led into her hairline. And her left arm was tucked rigidly close to her ribcage, as if it belonged in a sling; _not that she'd use one_.

_All she needed was the sexy split lip, and she'd make a damn good Bond Girl_.

And her hair was so long, longer than he remembered it ever being; it almost touched the small of her back, cascading in soft waves, highlighted, likely from the exposure of the Israeli sun.

Ziva muttered something Tony couldn't understand_,_ although it sounded like a threat, and Eli let out a hollow laugh. He stood, the three agents following suit, and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek before tilting her chin with a thumb to look at injuries, only to have his hand swatted away in protest. "Nothing is wrong," he insisted with a sigh. "They are here to help with your next case."

"With _what case_?" she urged. "Malachi is already working a case. He will not be back for days." She took the manila file from her father's desk, and quickly scanned the cover page. "NCIS Agents?" she questioned. "When?"

Gibbs glared at Eli in question. "She didn't know we were coming?" he accused.

"No, I did not." Her chin tilted upwards in defiance.

"You know now," Eli stated, thinning patience evident in his tone. "Now you have your notes, and if I am correct, Ms. Sciuto has emailed all of you the military and personal backgrounds of each agent." He turned to Ziva, eyes and tone softer, "To be wrapped up quickly, hmmm?" She merely nodded in approval, and Eli handed her a set of keys. "Show them to their suite? The house in Florentin."

A second, silent nod of approval, and Ziva turned, for the first time, to face the three agents.

_And she was wearing a tired smile that told Tony she hadn't slept in days._

"Are you ready, Gibbs?"

"Waitin' on you, _Ziver_."

Her face brightened at the mispronunciation of her name, that, over the years, she'd come to understand was a term of endearment.

_And God, had she missed it_.

Once outside, she tossed the keys to the black SUV to Gibbs, who seamlessly navigated his way through the streets of Tel Aviv, following every one of Ziva's sharp left turns, _sans her blinker_, as if he'd already known the route.

...

Fifteen minutes later they arrived, having passed numerous eateries and, according to an easily excitable McGee, the Tel Aviv boardwalk; they pulled into a long driveway, to a modern house in the middle of a bustling city that promised endless hours of exploration.

_And it was definitely not at all what Tony had expected of Ziva's native country. _

Ziva hopped out of her midsized grey Nissan Tiida, leaving the engine to run idle, indicating she had no intentions of staying. "The key should be on your key ring," she directed.

"Bright and early, David?" Gibbs asked.

She shrugged innocently. "Whenever these two decide to roll out of bed, I suppose."

McGee smiled and squeezed her arm softly before bustling up the stairs to the veranda behind Gibbs.

Tony turned face her, but Ziva was busy watching his counterpart clumsily make his way past the threshold of their makeshift home, almost tripping over Gibbs' motionless feet. "You should stay for a while," he suggested, bowing his head to catch her attention. "McGee and I will probably head out for food while the Bossman does," his face scrunched in thought. "Well, whatever it is he's gonna' do."

He watched her swallow nothing, a telling ripple on the smooth column of her throat.

_Please_.

She smiled warmly up at him. "Not tonight, Tony," she declined. "I have notes to review for tomorrow, and calls to make."

"Some other time," he suggested.

"Of course, Tony."

"Hey," he cocked a brow, tugging gently on her wrist as she turned to leave; "Sorry," he muttered, dropping her hand quickly, feeling her hesitation at his touch. "I just...-, didn't I ask you to stop getting blown up?"

"I did not get blown up, Tony," she dismissed, laughing at his excessive concern. "It was merely a tactical exercise."

"Tactical exercise?" he repeated. "You did this in training?"

_Who the hell would take training that far_?

"You could say that," she considered slowly. "But I really have to go, Tony," she glanced at the time on her phone. "I'll be late if I don't leave now."

"For what?"

_For who?_

Ziva pulled a face, but it quickly turned into a smile. She finally allowed herself a moment to take in his appearance.

_Five years, and he'd barely aged. _

He still wore that brown belt with his jeans, and that goofy smile.

But his green eyes were just as she remembered, and the day old stubble on his chin reminded her of the rawness on her skin it had left in its wake, after their last night together.

_On her inner thigh._

_And her stomach._

_And her lips._

She took a few short steps towards him and stood on her tip toes, quickly steadying herself with a hand on his shoulder, to leave a soft kiss on his right cheek.

And as quickly as it had happened, Ziva pulled away from him. Her nose crinkled, "It is good to see you, Tony."

"Yeah," he responded, dazed.

He stood with his hands in his pockets and watched as she climbed back into her car and drove off.

Within minutes she was back on the main road, surpassing the speed limit by numbers easily in the double digits, and she slammed her left hand against the steering wheel. She cursed loudly at the sharp pain that throbbed in her shoulder, and then at herself.

_Five years._

_It'd been five years, but he had somehow edged his way back into her life; even if it were only temporary. _

_Tony was in Israel, and everything was going to fall apart_.

* * *

A/N:

Jeez, I'm actually extremely excited to get to the juicy chapters later in this story.

Like. You. Have. No. Idea.

And, again, I love you all for your continued support and reviews.

And a preemptive thanks for your feedback on this chapter!

-Katie


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